Well looky, looky here. A little something. Might turn this into a mini series.
Oakland, CA, 2001
3 AM. The hour children should be deep into dreamland amidst waterfalls of sour candy and a massive bright yellow jawbreaker where the sun should be. They certainly shouldn't be sitting knees-to-chest in the back of their mother's closet, shivering in mid-July California heat while God knows what happens on the other side of the closed door.
The sounds of shattering glass and heavy fists beating into skin easily penetrated the boy's ears though he sat with his hands clamped over his ears like a vise. A deep, angry voice, slurred by drunkenness...or something else warbling profanities that punctuated each blow. There was no mistaking the distinctly feminine, choked cries for help. A familiar sound. His little body stayed in its position in spite of it.
Hours earlier:
In the wee hours of the morning, mother and son slept swathed in heat covering them like a thick blanket. Droplets of sweat trickled down their faces; the rickety, metal desk fan offering little reprieve. Bang! Bang! Bang! Three successive knocks sounded against the front door, jolting the pair from sleep.
'Open the fuckin' door, Lena!' The banging only grew more intense and it would only be moments before it caved under the weight. The young mother did the only thing she could in the scarce time: protect her child. She grabbed him in her arms and sat him in the furthest corner away from the door.
'Now, whatever you do, whatever you hear...Mama needs you to stay put, you understand?' Silence for several beats before the wide-eyed child nods twice in understanding. She hands him a worn, tan teddy bear with green eyes and a missing ear that's lost most of its stuffing, before her warm hands grasp his face. She places a quick kiss on his forehead, then slides the door into place, hiding her most precious treasure from view. A loud crack signified time was up and there was no running from her fate.
Present time:
Painful gasps for air, followed by a gurgle. There was a thunk, the sound of a body falling into a heap on hardwood floors. Frantic shuffling around, various bumps and knocks, and heavy breathing that seemed to drag on, before the opening and closing of a door.
Then...nothing.
In the middle of the commotion, he had silently, yet fervently prayed (something he learned from a woman he called 'Nana') somebody, anybody would save them from the living nightmare that was their life. It didn't take long for him to realize whatever deities existed didn't make stops to the 'hood. Most anywhere else, a concerned, sympathetic neighbor would've alerted authorities of the violent disturbance, but not where pimps, dealers, users, and cops who treat 'to protect and serve' like an option as opposed to an oath make their home. Peace and quiet is more of a cause for alarm.
Unable to measure how long paralytic fear kept him rooted to the closet floor, when the silence remained undisturbed, he shakily slid the closet door open. Destruction was all that remained in the poorly maintained space. The rotted wood nightstand was reduced to a pile of scraps. Dingy lace curtains that hung from a makeshift rod were ripped down, revealing the hazy pink and purple beginnings of sunrise. Droplets of red were splattered across the hardwood. His young mind didn't want to come to terms with what the half-dried substance was, but he knew.
He couldn't think to do anything but to get out of dodge. Who knows who would be coming next? So, he slipped on his beaten sneakers, grabbed his teddy, and, from his memory, trekked to the neighboring complex where 'Nana' stayed. The lone souls on the street didn't look twice at the small child clutching a stuffed animal to his chest who walked as if he had a distinct location in mind. Climbing the four floors to reach her apartment proved an arduous task for six-year-old legs, but on he marched. With his last reserves of energy, he knocked on her door before collapsing in front of it. His saving grace was the fact she slept lighter than a butterfly wing, so she was alerted to the light raps against her door.
"What in the name?" she mused while tying the sash of her fluffy, lavender robe. She would've never guessed who was waiting for her on the other side.
"My lord, child! What on Earth are you doing all the way over here?" She helped him to his feet. "Talk to me, son. Where's your mama?" In his first show of emotion since the tragedy began, he fell into her arms and sobbed, the pain overflowing through his whole being like a broken dam.
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Not too sure where I'm going with this, but I like how it's turning out. I have something else in the works for tomorrow, so stay tuned❤.
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FanfictionA tribute to the gorgeous Luke James with his panty dropping vocals in the form of imagines❤️.
